by Ann Roth
He saw right through her. “Putting off the meeting with your grandparents a little while longer won’t make it any easier,” he said. “I’ll tell you about the business on the drive over.”
With a reluctant sigh, she nodded and stepped up into the passenger seat.
Clay caught a flash of the creamy backs of her thighs before she slid onto the seat. Her shoulders weren’t the only part of her body that looked smooth and soft.
Swallowing, he shut the door and headed around the truck, toward the driver’s seat. Masking a wince, he climbed in.
“Mind if I change the radio station?” she asked as he pulled onto the highway.
No longer interested in the agricultural talk show he’d found, he shook his head. “Be my guest.”
She found the country music station he liked. Toby Keith was singing “As Good As I Once Was,” a song Clay could relate to.
“You were going to tell me about stock contractors,” Sarah reminded him.
“There are a couple of different kinds,” he said. “Some contractors produce rodeos and supply stock. “I’m not interested in the production side. Hollyer Ranch will focus solely on breeding and raising bulls and other cattle for rodeos. We’ll also maintain a small herd of heifers and cows strictly for breeding purposes.”
“I learned from Lucky that a heifer is a cow that hasn’t had any calves yet,” Sarah said.
“That’s right. Most rodeo owners rent the stock for their shows, but sometimes they want to purchase an animal. That will be possible, too. The details will be worked out in a legal contract.”
“I’ve never even thought about all that. The subject certainly never came up during those ten days I spent with you.” A self-deprecating smile touched her lips. “But then, I didn’t ask.”
“Why would you? Your article was about me, not what goes on behind the scenes.” Clay shrugged. “There’s a lot about rodeoing that most people don’t know about, some of it controversial.”
She angled her head and frowned slightly, like she did when something puzzled her. “Controversial?”
Clay nodded. “Some contractors are known for treating their animals cruelly. Electric prods, sharpened spurs, bucking straps—those things make cattle and horses act crazy wild. Rodeo crowds like that, but I’m totally against it.”
“Me, too.” Sarah looked as outraged by that as Clay was. “Did using one of those awful devices cause the accident that crushed your knee?”
So she knew about his knee. He figured someone in town had told her, or maybe she’d checked online. He shook his head. “I’d gotten some bad news and was preoccupied.” He didn’t intend to say another word about it, but the words came out anyway. “It was just before the event that the woman I told you about, the one who read your article, hit me with the news that she was pregnant and swore I was the father. I was pretty rattled. The bull didn’t have to work very hard to toss me.”
Sarah’s eyes were huge. “I am so sorry, Clay.”
“I don’t want your pity. Anyway, that’s all behind me now. I’ve moved on.” At least he was trying. He was still adjusting to the unexpected end of his career. “Back to animal cruelty on the rodeo circuit. You can bet I’ll make sure that none of my stock will ever be exposed to electric shock, bucking straps or sharpened spurs. That will be spelled out plainly in the contract, and someone from my operation will be present at every rodeo to make sure of it.”
Sarah’s sweet smile made his chest swell. “Your animals will be grateful. Let’s say a rodeo producer wants to rent some of your bulls. Do you just pick any old bull that looks mean? How do you know a bull will buck like it’s supposed to?”
“Crossbred Brahmans are a good choice because—wait a minute.” Suddenly suspicious, he narrowed his eyes. “This is starting to sound like an interview. I told you, the answer is no.”
She looked surprised. “I’m just interested, I swear.” Her hands were laced together, the thumbs tapping each other. “I’m nervous about meeting the Beckers, and I guess I slipped into what I’m most comfortable with—interview mode.”
Clay could only guess at how she felt, but he knew something about the jitters. “When I first started bull riding, I used to throw up before every ride,” he admitted. “Even at the height my career, I sometimes still did.”
“You?” Sarah scoffed. “I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true.”
“That’s another thing you never mentioned before.”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“Of course it’s important! Inquiring fans always want to know.”
“Not about that. They expect a bull rider to be strong and tough.”
Her eyes widened. “Ah, you didn’t want them to know.”
“Damn straight, I didn’t. Any sign of weakness and they forget you ever existed.” Clay had learned that the hard way, after his accident.
“But what you call weakness makes you human. People still love you, Clay. They always will.”
She didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, and he wasn’t about to enlighten her. He gave her a quelling look. “Do you want to know how I dealt with the problem or not?”
Sarah nodded, and he went on. “A few months into my career, an old handler I knew caught me puking up my guts.”
Clay remembered that afternoon as if it was yesterday. He’d been on his knees in a stall in the men’s room, hugging the commode. In his haste to reach the toilet in time, he hadn’t locked the door, and the handler had jerked it open, startling him.
“He thought I was drunk or hungover, but when he discovered I wasn’t, he taught me a neat trick that helped me calm down,” Clay said. “A technique I’ve used ever since.”
“I could use something like that about now. Please, tell me your trick.”
“It’s called meditation.”
“You meditate?”
Her astonishment irked him, and he raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m capable of quieting my mind and body.”
“It isn’t that at all. It’s just...you don’t strike me as a man who does that kind of thing.”
Clay eyed her. “What kind of man do I strike you as?”
“The kind who works off nervous energy with physical activity. You know, pacing or jogging or riding.”
“I use those when I can. But there are times when moving around isn’t possible or isn’t enough. Meditation requires no extra space, and once you learn how to quiet and clear your mind, it always works.”
“Teach me,” she said.
“I will, but not right now.” He lifted the corner of his mouth. “It’s not a good idea to meditate when you drive.”
“Well, shoot. You wouldn’t happen to have a stiff drink on you, would you?”
Clay chuckled. “Nope.”
“Then I guess I’m stuck with this kaleidoscope of butterflies in my stomach.” Within minutes, she knotted her hands together in her lap and grew so uptight that tension radiated from her.
Clay changed his mind. “I guess I can give you a few pointers that will help you relax.”
“Anything that will help.”
He shut the off the radio. “Take your shoes off and put your feet flat on the floor, then sit back and get comfy.”
He waited for her to slip out of her sandals and settle in her seat before continuing. “Now, close your eyes. Take a slow, deep breath. Hold it, then exhale, pushing out all the air, until every ounce of it is gone. Then breathe in again and exhale the same way. Do it three times.”
Sarah followed his instructions. Keeping his eyes on the road and his voice low and easy, he said, “Now, I want you to relax every part of your body. We’ll start with your feet.”
As he directed her through releasing the tension, he moved slowly from
her calves to her thighs. That’s where things got a lot more interesting.
While she was relaxing, Clay imagined getting rid of her anxieties in a whole different way. Stroking the soft skin of her inner thighs until her legs widened in silent invitation. Inching his hands higher, and...
Predictably, a certain part of his body woke up. He frowned. What in hell was he doing? Sarah needed his help. She wouldn’t appreciate his thinking at all.
He forced himself to focus on helping her get calm, talking her through relaxing her stomach, then her back. “Now, relax your chest muscles,” he said, glancing at her breasts.
Her dress wasn’t tight or low cut, but the sweet hint of her hidden curves tempted him all the same. Clay started to get hard. Sneering at himself, he shifted in his seat.
“Pull in a deep breath through your nose,” he said gruffly.
She opened one eye. “You’re irritated.”
“I’m fine,” he said, willing her not to glance at his lap. “Close your eyes again.”
“That’s okay. That was fun, and I feel a lot more relaxed now.”
Clay was the opposite, but her grateful smile was worth the discomfort. “I can tell,” he said. “There’s a calmness about you that was missing before.”
“Thanks to you.” She laughed and shook her head. “It seems that I’m always thanking you for something.”
It had been a while since Clay had been appreciated by someone who didn’t want anything from him, and he soaked up her gratitude. “No problem.”
Sarah turned the radio back on, and music again filled the car. Eyes closed, head against the headrest, she hummed along.
Her long neck and decisive chin gave her a regal air, and at the same time, the slight, upward curve at the tip of her delicate nose was almost pixielike.
A beautiful combination. Sarah was beautiful, and the more her knew about her the more he liked her. He knew better than to trust her, but he sure wanted her.
Suddenly she glanced at him. “Tell me more about your family.”
“You’ve heard about mom and dad, my sister, Lisa, and my nieces, Madison and Fiona. Lisa’s husband, Chris, is a great guy.”
“Are your parents still running the hotel in Billings?”
He nodded. “Lisa and Chris help run it, and our grandparents take turns at the front desk. It’s pretty much a whole-family operation.”
“Except for you.”
“Except for me. The hospitality business isn’t my thing.”
“Do they mind that you bought a ranch in Saddlers Prairie?”
“Not at all. They just want me to be happy.” Clay counted himself lucky for that.
Sarah looked wistful. “You’re fortunate to have them, Clay.”
“I am.” Knowing what Sarah was going through made that all the more clear.
“Do you miss not living near them?”
At one time, he would’ve. The accident had changed that. His mom had wanted him to move back home, so that she could take care of him while he recovered. Clay knew she loved him, but he’d seen the resignation and pity in her eyes.
He didn’t want or need either. Besides, he was a grown man, with good insurance, and thanks to a solid investment strategy, plenty of money. He’d hired a full-time nurse instead, and as soon as he was out of the chair and walking again, he’d moved to Saddlers Prairie.
“We email and talk on the phone, and try to Skype once a month,” he said. “As a stock contractor I’ll be traveling to rodeo organizations all over the western U.S., including Billings, and I’ll see them then. And after the house is built, they can come down and stay with me anytime.” He pointed out the window. “See that big building up there on the right? I’m pretty sure that’s Sunset Manor.”
Sarah nodded and reverted back to her tense pose. No traces of relaxed calm now.
Clay pulled into the crowded parking lot of a modern-looking structure with neatly manicured grounds. People of all ages strolled the gardens, and in the white gazebo nearby, a large group of people had gathered for what appeared to be a party.
Sunset Manor didn’t look at all like the drab, stodgy place he’d imagined.
“Lots of people out and about today,” he said. “But then, it is Sunday.”
“I didn’t think about that.” Sarah swallowed. “What if Tammy and her family are here, visiting?”
With that, she dug into her purse for her comb and lipstick.
Clay reached for her cold hand. “It’ll be fine, Sarah.”
She looked doubtful, then squeezed her eyes shut, sucked in a breath, and nodded.
Not far from the entrance, he found a parking space. After shaking the kinks out of his bad leg, he headed around the pickup, where Sarah waited for him.
“How do I look?” she said, her face a mask of worry. “Is my hair okay?”
Aside from the anxiety radiating from her, she looked great. Clay made a show of brushing her bangs out of her eyes, just so he could touch her.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his fingers lingering on the soft skin of her cheeks. He reached again for her hand. “Ready?”
She nodded, and together they approached the entrance to the building.
* * *
A BUNDLE OF nerves, Sarah moved hesitantly toward the glass doors of Sunset Manor and wished she’d called after all. If not for Clay’s firm grip on her hand, she would have turned around and fled.
The doors slid open, and he tugged her inside a surprisingly airy lobby. Sunlight streamed through the skylights, shining on an abundance of lush, green plants.
Neither the decor nor the soft music meant to welcome visitors helped her dry throat and hammering heart.
“Courage,” Clay murmured, squeezing her fingers. “Remember to breathe.”
She inhaled deeply. At the front desk, an attractive girl with a name tag identifying her as Janine, was doing paperwork of some kind. She looked twenty—maybe it was homework.
“Hel—” Sarah cleared her throat. “Hello. We’re here to see Bob and Judy Becker.”
Janine peered up at her. “Are they expecting you?”
“No.”
“Who should I say is here?” she said, reaching for the house phone.
At a loss, Sarah glanced at Clay.
“We’d kinda like to surprise them,” he said, flashing his smile.
Busy looking up the Becker’s phone number, Janine missed the smile. “For security purposes, I need to know who you are,” she said, finally looking up.
Clay made a gesture of tipping his hat, only without the hat. “The name’s Clay Hollyer.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened. “I knew you looked familiar.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in its famous quirk.
Clearly overcome by the sight of the big handsome man standing within reach, Janine fanned herself. “Clay Hollyer is here,” she announced in a voice loud enough for people in Alaska to hear. “He’s at my desk!”
Men and women, young and old, began to move toward him. “Uh-oh,” he muttered under his breath.
He squared his shoulders and broke into the familiar grin Sarah had seen on Facebook and billboards and in magazines.
Everyone wanted to shake his hand, get his autograph and pose with him for a picture.
His smile never slipping, Clay shook, signed and posed. Only Sarah noted the strain underneath.
Clay didn’t enjoy being the center of attention, which came as a surprise, something to think about later.
After what seemed like ages, the last of the adoring crowd shuffled off.
“I texted my boyfriend and all my friends about you,” Janine said. “They think I’m kidding. Could I get your autograph, too, and a picture with your arm around me?” She handed her phone to
Sarah.
After Sarah snapped a few photos, Clay leaned toward the starstruck girl. “Look, this visit is a surprise. Just tell us where the Beckers live and we’ll knock on their door.”
“I’m not supposed to.”
“Not even for me?” He flashed another smile, this one amped up to killer level. “I won’t tell, I promise.”
Minutes later, Sarah and Clay stepped onto the elevator.
“I can’t get over how you charmed her into changing her mind,” she said as the door closed. “How you charmed everyone.”
“Another trick of mine that’s come in handy.”
“I’ll bet. You didn’t enjoy the attention, though.”
He gave her a sideways look. “You could tell?”
“Only because I really looked. Believe me, no one else noticed.”
He blew out a breath. “That’s a relief.”
“So...have you always been like this? Pretending you love being in the spotlight, when you really don’t?”
“Guilty as charged, but please, keep that to yourself.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” She pantomimed locking her lips. “If you never liked the attention, why did you take up bull riding?”
“Because I was good at it, I enjoyed the challenge and it paid well.”
Crossing his arms and setting his jaw, he leaned against the elevator rail and studied the floor indicator, letting her know he was finished answering her questions.
Sarah stared at the carpet. Clay Hollyer wasn’t at all the man she’d thought he was when she’d written the article about him.
An article she regretted more and more.
She was on the verge of apologizing when the elevator stopped at the third floor.
“We’re here,” Clay said.
The door opened, and her mind emptied of everything but her fear. She grabbed for his hand and held on tight. Just as he had before, he gently squeezed her fingers, providing the reassurance she needed.
“Apartment 325 is this way,” he said, steering her around a corner.
“Do you think Tammy’s visiting them today?” she asked in a low voice. “I wanted to ask Janine, but I was afraid that if I did, she’d start questioning me.”